


Borrowed Scenery

by Corinne K (Corinne_K)



Series: Borrowed Scenery [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:06:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6567571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corinne_K/pseuds/Corinne%20K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where can a man go, when a man has seen his death? All things Jūshirō ever held dear seem out of reach, as he wakes up after the war. A shinigami on the road, a woman seeking solace in a new life. Loyalty, love, regrets and possibilities. Sadly but proudly canon-divergent as of chapter 685.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Uncle White

I. Land of Ice

Step by step, just a little tired, just a little breathless, Jūshirō climbs the hill. The modern hiking boots feel snug, and the gore-tex green jacket encloses the heat from the climb around his chest. He pauses for an instant, slides the zipper down an inch, letting cool air flow in. He breathes. It feels so unlikely, that a small laughter comes to his throat. He places a hand over his rib cage. Under that hand, layers of skin, flesh and bone shelter the gift he was granted. A gift that breathes, a gift that keeps him alive. 

Three months had elapsed since the end of the war, two since his first glimpse of light. The first things he saw were a green mask and a pair of blue eyes. His brain didn't tune in in time to understand what words came from under the mask, but they sounded outlandish. They called  Isane Kotetsu to assist, then asked him how many fingers he could see, what his name was and what was his last memory. 

The last question sent a shiver through his body. His last memory? Water. He had been under water. But why? 

'Oh, it happened... But then, why am I alive?'

The pain of being emptied had been excruciating. Was that his last memory? No. There had been water, and, through a faint thread of reiatsu that clung to him, there had been turmoil and struggle. And then, for the first time in hundreds of years, despair had permeated sky, rubble and water, reached the depths of where he was. 

"Katen Kyōkotsu: Karamatsu Shinjū." He proclaimed with a hint of pride, a hazy warmth in his voice. 

The doctor looked at the shinigami healer, puzzled. Isane nodded. 

"Yes. That's the last thing I remember."

He later came to know that the human doctor had been Shunsui's doing. He could not imagine how such a thing had passed through the Central, but his friend had always been resourceful, that he knew. 

On the days that followed, a small task force gravitated to his bedside. Shunsui, Rukia, Byakuya, Nanao, his third seats and some other captains and lieutenants, on a rotational basis. Others would pass by with well wishes and smiles. He felt loved, if slightly embarrassed with all the attention.

As days went by Jūshirō grew stronger. The doctor and his team eventually left with all their machinery. They were generously rewarded, their memories manipulated, and eased into the appearance of reality in which humans live and thrive.

Back in Ugendo, rebuilt to resemble the original as faithfully as possible, Jūshirō slowly coached himself back to normal life. Soon he was walking and taking care of small domestic tasks, like fish feeding and tea drinking.

Rukia was delighted to see him up and about when she came by one afternoon, with a full report of the division's rebuilding efforts.

He cherished the lieutenant deeply. Not only she was a very able officer, but she had a keen sense of empathy. When he saw the bundle of paperwork he knew it - she was reassuring him that he was still a captain of the Gotei 13. 

In the depths of his mind, though, he was just a man that had been dead.

What were the implications of this fact? Could he just recover and carry on? What more did he have to give? He had given until his body was an empty shell. 

Soul Society. The Gotei 13. It all felt oddly distant, things that he once held close and now could no longer grasp. He looked at the bundle of documents again, then offered his best smile to the petite and graceful woman in front of him. His decision was made.

"B-but, Captain, how am I to lead the division on my own? I don’t have enough experience!"

"Nonsense! Kuchiki, you have been acting captain through the war and reconstruction, the soldiers trust your judgment and your strength. Do not underestimate yourself!"

"B-but…"

Her wide eyes stared into his and then at the ground, shaded by her lashes. He knew that her reluctance was not born out of uncertainty, but out of affection. The thought made him melt a little. 

She sighed – "When will we see you again captain?"

Ukitake gave out a cheerful laugh.

"Soon enough Kuchiki! I’m not going to die. I already did that!"

"Captain!"

"Rukia" he began in a soft deep voice "I just need some time away, some time to think. This is not goodbye, ok?"

"I understand captain. I just… we lost so many, the pain is unbearable sometimes."

"I know. But that is why the Gotei 13 needs your strength. Take this opportunity and be the best you can be. Be the captain I could never be…" he silenced her protest with a light swing of the wrist "… and remember, wherever I am, I will always stand by you."

The image of her captain holding the Shihōin shield on the top of Sōkyoku hill flashed through her mind. ‘Yes, he will’, she had no doubt whatsoever.

As a compromise, they agreed to hang the captain’s haori on a wooden stand behind his desk. That way she did not have to wear it, but he did not have to take it – the burden of his position. 

When he walked into his office on the morning of his departure, he noticed the table set with his usual brush and his favorite ink stone. Everything had been cleaned and impeccably tidied up. Incense perfumed the room and the light that sipped through the paper panels gave it an aura of solemn stillness.

"Seriously, you guys think too much of me! This looks like a museum!"

"Or they think of you as an archeological artifact, isn’t it handsome?"

Jūshirō glanced wide-eyed as the captain commander let himself in. After all the centuries, the deep voice still stirred something within. The hair was tied neat at the nape of the neck, his eye-patch – his war scar – cut through his chiseled features. He wore the first divisions’ white haori. No pink kimono, no straw hat. He looked… institutional… and somewhat more attractive.

"Shun-sui…"

"Just came by to see you off", he said casually. "We will need to talk someday, but for now… well, enjoy yourself, will you?"

He laid a thumb on Jūshirō’s cheek, lovingly, but when he realized the others had not really left, he lifted it and hummed "Isn’t it nice? Going on a journey, seeing the world in this great new era. I wish I could join you, really. But at least bring me a souvenir, will you? A nice bottle of expensive booze will do, of course!"

Jūshirō chuckled. Shunsui would never make his life easy. Thrilling, insanely happy, yes, but never easy.

A small party had gathered around the senkaimon. Ise was there too. She seemed somehow less stiff, more confident. Perhaps the rumors were true, perhaps not. His intention had never been to lock his best friend in a cage. 

He gave away smiles, bows and a few hugs. He did not look back, but he knew that a solid wall stood behind him. It's warmth travelled with him across the worlds.

\---

At the top of the hill stands a small pile of stones. A gnome's lair, he muses. Far away a plateau steals away the sun. A river snakes it's way in the shaded side of the hill. On the other side clouds of mist rise, the gust of a geyser erupts at regular intervals. The day will go on without end. It's midsummer. 

He stays at the summit for a while, builds his own pile of stones. Then, he slowly descends, passes through the geothermal park once again, mixes with the crowds that walk to and from tour buses, have their snacks in the park, shop for souvenirs for their friends and family. He looks around for any fancy bottled drinks, finds nothing suitable. It is early evening by usual hours when he gets back on the endless road, on that endless day.

The choice of Iceland as his first destination had been quite random, really. He picked what he believed was his furthest point of interest, so that, from there, he could make his way back home. It had been a good choice, he considered. The sterile nothingness of the plains made him feel less empty. The eerie black beaches swept away the oddity he saw in himself.

He got back to the inn near Reykjavik around midnight. The day was still bright and he was not tired. He went into the woods, through a cemetery and ended up by the sea. A fine allegory, he thought.

He spent the months of summer in the Nordic island, barely sleeping, entranced by the midnight sun. He left when the days went dark and the memories of death took control of his mind.

II. Land of Water

From there he went down to Amsterdam. The winter days were still gloomy, but the youthful crowd that lingered around the city – a mix of students, backpackers and arty folk - made him feel alive. He had chosen the city for a certain reputation it held, and it did not disappoint. He had never smoked in his life, for obvious reasons, and he would not take it up now. He would sip his special "tea" and wonder at the world from a cozy corner inside a coffee shop. He became a sort of mascot in the circuit. His appearance, that of a youthful elder, and his bubbly behavior, earned him the nickname of Uncle White. He became a bit of an urban legend of his own right, and people began to flock to him.

Before long, his first intimate encounter in the city was upon him. It felt like a first time. She was a university student he had bumped into by chance in a bookshop. Ingrid was her name. They met for coffee together a few times and one day she invited him to her studio for dinner. It was a student’s menu: salad, pasta and cheap red wine, but the food was flavorful enough, and the wine kept the conversation going. He was nervous when he finally began to undress her. Looking back, it was a good experience. She largely took the initiative, dismissing him as a hopeless old man. She was particularly exasperated at his look of panic when presented with a strange square plastic wrap, but carried on, nevertheless, spicing things up nicely with her dirty tongue and lacy undergarments.

After that, he met a bunch of other people and went to bed with a few. He learned how people interact and was impressed by how far the world had gone. How women had come to be respected, independent and free, and how people with dual inclinations, like himself, or with a pure same-sex interest, were now more open and accepted. He had some unpleasant moments, nonetheless, as he would sometimes be mistaken for some overly available exotic item… but he solved them all diplomatically, exuding the confidence of one who knew – though no one else could even imagine – that the tiniest flare of his well controlled reiatsu could bring any aggressor to the ground.

 

III. Land of Smiles

One day, a girl asked him to join her on her gap year trip. Her name was Emma. She was very young and kind of erratic. She was already on the road when they met, having set out from somewhere in the British Isles, bound to Southeast Asia. Jūshirō’s plan had been to trail the way with time, stopping often, living the road - a silk road of sorts. But at that moment, on a whim, he decided to cut the trip short and follow her. He could always go back if he wanted to.

They arrived in Bangkok in the wee hours of the morning and transferred by domestic flight to Koh Samui. From there a boat brought them to a smaller island. Once they stepped out of the ferry, into the bustling jetty, they were officially backpacking.

The girl lead the way up to something she called ‘festival’ grounds. It was set amid tropical vegetation, on a slight elevation. Jūshirō stood in awe at the azure waters of the ocean that spread out in front of him. And then, following through a sand path, the forest opened to the most peculiar sight: an assortment of men and women of all origins, freed of shame and fear, dancing under the hot sun. The festival – so they called it – would last only a few days. After that, Emma would continue north, to the old cities of Siam, and then into Cambodia. He thought he might head to China, and from there back to Japan, his spiritual homeland.

On the first night it became clear that Emma was not on a monogamous journey. He once again felt slightly out of place. But there was a certain friendliness to that crowd. ‘How curious’ - he thought – ‘they remind me of those fellows back in the sixties’. The music, though, was very different. It came out of a machine and the musician was usually alone behind a sort of deck. It was loud, intense, and it seemed engineered to make you take off, leave your body behind. He could hear hints of India, makeshift spirituality. Very curious, indeed.

He had been sitting by a small boulder when a group spotted him and ushered him to the dance floor. It didn’t take him long to be engulfed in all of it - the people, the music, the warm night breeze, the concoctions that sped his mind, enhanced his movements. And so he gladly joined the party, and spent those few days enjoying the nature, the sea, the sun, dancing by day and by night, having casual sex with beautiful strangers. He laughed to and of himself – a retired shinigami going hippie. ‘What would Shunsui say if he saw me now?’

And what a sight he was. His long hair had turned coarse due to the salt water and began to tangle in a way that, in time, could well result in the formation of dreadlocks. A pair of fisherman's pants in green and caramel hues hung loose over his hip bones. He was bare-chested and bare-footed and his skin was working a gentle tan that shimmered faintly from sunscreen someone had applied. A few handmade necklaces swung around his neck, over his collarbone, as he danced absentmindedly into the sunset, smiling, eyes shut and tripping deep.

He was like a magnet, he was never alone, and soon he would be sitting in a circle, chatting, sharing a meal, a drink, someone's weed or whatever they had. Soon he would be sharing the starry sky with someone of his liking. Had this been him all the way? Or was he reborn somehow? Inhabiting a human body, a perfect gigai, he felt reincarnated. Uncle White – the nickname followed him, but he didn’t mind. Thoughts of home, thoughts of war and thoughts of him would incidentally flash by. His feelings hadn't changed. However, his attitudes and desires had, in a way that he could not quite comprehend. He was ready to embrace the world, and so he did.

On the last day, he had a single kabuki mask – the mask of the warrior – tattooed on his right shoulder. It was done in a tent with modern tools that came in sealed little plastic bags. He met briefly with Emma before they parted ways. She had also darkened a bit, the color flattering her delicate features, blending with her rusty braided hair.

"I hope you liked it here, babe" she said grinning.

"Yes, very much" he smiled back.

"You look younger…"

"Thanks…" he scratched his neck in modesty. He lowered his eyes, but she fetched his chin and kissed him languidly, for a long time, stirring his loins, teasing his resolve. He had lost touch with her for most of the time. She had been there but at the same time she had not. But in his mind she was the party. She was the energy that had seeped into him, she had brought the sun, the kiss of warmth and beauty into his life. He was once again thankful.

"Tell you what" she said, breaking the kiss "let me know once you settle – where was it again?"

"Kyoto…"

"Right, Kyoto. Let me know, and I’ll swing by to see you."

And just like that, with a white lie, she gave him all he needed to set out on his own again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been partially re-written. I was never quite happy with the flow of the first paragraphs and some ideas in them kind of faded as the story developed. Sometimes less is more! If you read the original let me know what you think of this new version, if you haven't, hope you enjoy and stick to the story. Cheers!


	2. Mask of the Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he settles down in modern day Kyoto, Jūshirō makes acquaintances and is visited by unwanted guests.

When Jūshirō moved to Kyoto the cherry blossom season had just gone by. Slowly, the town was relieved of the hoards of tourists and settled down into a calmer, almost sleepy, rhythm. After his adventures in Europe and Southeast Asia, it felt soothing. He rented a small unit in a three story building near the town hall. From there he could travel by subway and train easily, and many historical sites were still within reach. It's as if he was lingering between the modern world and soul society, and that made him strangely comfortable.

He would receive a visit from Rukia once a week, in which she would try to convince him that his advice was still needed in the division’s affairs. Soon enough he would have to talk to Shunsui about her promotion. The captain's haori had been left in a stand in his office and Rukia had forbidden anyone from touching it other than to clear the dust from time to time. But she had bankai and she had proven more than capable. The haori would have to be trimmed to fit her stature, sooner rather than later.

At this point his train of thought was interrupted by a loud burst of sound coming from the unit above his. After a staccato of running steps the volume went down a notch but still remained loud enough to annoy him. It was somewhat similar to the music he had danced to in Koh Tao, but more frantic, restless and dark. It didn't invite to the state of contemplative ecstasy he had experienced, but rather to a riot of the senses. 

He picked up his book from the floor and leaned down on the green retro armchair. He made a mental note to buy a pair of headphones to block out noises. They might even come in handy come next hanami, when streets fill up with people again. 

Losing focus from the narrative he closed his eyes. But the pulsing vibrations made his eyelids twitch and open. He rose and went to the kitchen, made himself a pot of tea. He was just reclining on the armchair when the music went up again. ‘That’s it!’ In a gust of fury, he rose, marched for the door. He would go upstairs and go ballistic on the punk.

And out he went and up the stairs. Squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin he knocked on the door. The music had grown louder with proximity, but the inhabitant seemed to have heard the knocking, for the same staccato steps approached. The door opened. Inside was a young woman, skin dark and wavy black hair cropped above her shoulders, wearing denim shorts and a tank top. She seemed a bit puzzled the moment she laid her brown eyes on him. Jūshirō assumed she was not from there, so he started in his good enough English:

"Madam I am sorry to intrude but could you bring down the volume? I am trying to rest and this is not acceptable..."

She stared at him dumbfounded and after a beat, she simply stated:

"I know you. You are Uncle White."

\---

And she smiled an open earnest smile, her teeth white inside the half moon that formed under the tenderness of her lips. It was Jūshirō's turn to be speechless. Had he met the girl? Had he slept with her? He had been high most of the time he spent in that island. He recalls some people and events but all memories are a bit hazy. He had met a lot of people, many drawn to him for his out of the world looks, his quirky friendliness and his willingness to give himself away. Some remain in contact with him, as, at one point, someone bought him a smartphone and told everyone else to add themselves to his list of friends. 

The girl seemed to understand his confusion, so she clarified:

"I was working at the tattoo parlor, training with the guy that inked you. I was there, but it is... understandable that you don't remember me."

Jūshirō sighed. "I was drugged out of my mind."

"Well, who wasn’t?”

‘Did she just blink at me?’ Jūshirō wondered. "You?" - he asked, suddenly interested in his upstairs neighbor.

"Well, not really, no. I was sober most of the time. I'm not that much into it. I'm more of an alcohol person."

Jūshirō gave out a tiny laugh at the girl's seemingly honest confession.

"But hey... Uncle White, why don't you come in and have a drink then?"

“Jūshirō…” he started to introduce himself but, suddenly remembering his initial purpose, he changed course. "Thank you... I really just came here because of the music..."

"Oh! Of course, sorry about that!" 

She blushed slightly and ran inside, leaving the door open. Squatting by the speaker she lowered the volume a few good notches and fumbled with her old iPod for a while until she picked something slower, more atmospheric. She looked at him inquisitively, from the same spot. He let his gaze brush her figure as she stood up, long legs unfolding. Finally changing his mind, he walked in.

\---

He could not repress a chuckle when Alma emerged from the kitchen with a bottle of red wine and a plate of cheese and bread. ‘What’s with western girls and wine?’ He just had to give it to Bacchus sometimes. Jūshirō obviously knew very little about wine, but the smooth texture, the mild spiciness, and the pleasant heat it threw down his insides convinced him this was no cheap plonk. 

They spent the afternoon slowly sipping the newness in each other’s words, in the stories that were told, in laughter and in silence. It always felt dishonest for Jūshirō to tell his personal history bypassing the very relevant fact that he was a shinigami. He would talk of his childhood, disease and military background in terms that could fit human understanding. He would compress large chunks of existence into shorter periods to disguise his old age and he would speak of himself as some sort of retired classicist.

“I’m surprised you made it through your wacky trip right after a lung transplant! You are seriously insane, man…”

“Well, I guess I was lucky. It felt right, though.”

“What do you plan to do now?”

“Stay here for a while. Read, write. I don’t really know yet.”

“Yeah… well, if ever you need anything, or anytime you want to chat just knock. Worst comes to worse I’ll be wineless and cheeseless but I might still get something for a grub.”

“So you don’t plan on spending that much time in that tattoo shop?” It still puzzled him how an apprentice tattoo artist had such a good taste in wine. 

“If Asano is in the mood, yes. But he opens when he wants, he’s got shit loads of emails of people wanting to get inked and he… I don’t know. I didn’t even get him to ink me yet. I hope I can learn something over the next few months.”

“Why Asano-san?”

“I want to do watercolor. This:”

She rolled her arm and showed it to Jūshirō. Above her wrist a thin black line began and smudged its way up to the inside of her elbow, surrounded by splashes and brush strokes of green and blue.

“The guy that inked you, Phillippe, he’s pretty good, but he’s a line guy. I’m looking for someone who can do this” – and she pointed to her arm - “with calligraphy and shui-mo. Found someone in Hong Kong, but they’re settled, not taking anyone at the moment, so I came after Asano.”

“I see...”

Jūshirō had noticed some sketches near the window on the other side of the room, next to a big tub full of assorted drawing supplies. The image on top of the stash was that of two carps. ‘Funny, isn’t it?’ he thought. 

She leaned on her knees to pick up a piece of bread and had another sip of wine. The conversation had had a nice flow until then, but now she seemed to hesitate. He raised an eyebrow, inquisitively, and then smiled. She finally let out what had been on her mind.

“How’s yours coming along? Did it heal well?”

“It’s going fine I guess…”

They were sitting side by side in a low sofa, both with legs too long for the diminutive piece of furniture. She stopped on her tracks again, and they repeated the exact same actions as just before. After a giggle, she said:

“I’m thinking of asking you something a bit inappropriate, so I’m not sure if I should…”

In response he laid one arm on the back of the sofa, passing behind her back, and shifted to face her. He had a flirtatious smirk on his face.

“Shit…” she whispered. “Well, here it goes. I’d like to take a look at the tattoo. Can I?”

And that was when the urban legend showed itself before her eyes. ‘No wonder this bastard scored so much’. His hands were slowly working on the first few buttons of his shirt, his head was bowed gently and the white long strands brushed forward. ‘It’s an act.’ He slid the loosened collar down his shoulder, pulling the fabric with the tip of his finger. ‘Or is it just him being him?’ One hand brushed the hair over to the other side and the red and black mask finally appeared on his shoulder blade as he pivoted again to give her a better view. 

“Nice.”

The colors were vivid in contrast with the smooth skin, now a light peach tone. Thankfully his entourage had made sure it never burned, having covered him in copious layers of sunscreen every day. It had been a hilarious spectacle. 

She traced the lines with her index. They were crisp, well defined, and Phillippe had left his imprint in the almost unnoticeable segments that made the curves look less smooth, the angry expression fiercer.

“Why would a guy like you have something like this stamped on your skin?”

“I do have a military past…”

She realized she was now caressing it more than inspecting it, so she stopped, lifted her hand, letting it hover few inches above the striking design.

“Yeah, still hard to imagine.”

She finally laid her hand on her lap.

“Thanks. It’s coming along nicely. You were lucky this guy is actually good. Don’t get yourself inked when you’re high again, you might end up with something hideous.”

They both laughed. Alma divided the last bit of wine in two half doses and they downed it in silence. 

“I need to go soon. My assistant will come over to go through some issues.”

“Sure.”

They both rose and walked to the door.

“Thanks for your company and… sorry for the music. Won’t happen again.”

“It’s fine. If you keep the volume like this, it won’t bother me.”

“Great. See you around?”

“Yeah, see you soon.”

And then both tried to adopt each other’s customs and ended up in awkwardness. Alma assumed he would bow, so she tipped her head down, and Jūshirō thought she would kiss, so he leaned forward to offer his cheek. They collided head with shoulder and burst out laughing immediately. Then they settled on waving and smiling.

“See-ya!”

“Yup.”

\---

He went downstairs. Rukia would arrive in a couple of minutes. He used them to splash some cold water on his face and rinse his mouth. He was still mostly sober but Alma's touch on his skin had made him a tad airy. What was it in this new life of his that made him so… sensitive? Sighing he went back to the living room, just in time to see the first pair of shoji slide open in front of him.

He took a step forth, arms open to meet the petite lieutenant. Had it been her stepping through, he would have laid his hands gently on her shoulders, they would have bowed to each other and settled down on the floor, one on each side of his low desk. 

But the figure that appeared behind the second shoji door was tall and broad shouldered. He burst through in a flash, seizing Jūshirō, locking and arm around his waist, cupping his jaw in a bruising grip, invading him in a kiss that claimed his breath. When he finally let go, the tall man said:

"Captain Ukitake Jūshirō of Gotei's Thirteenth Division, allow me to escort you back to Sereitei."

"Shunsui? What are you...?"

Sake met red wine once more. Shunsui was not his playful self. Even in the peak of their passion, he had never possessed Jūshirō like this. His intent was violent, his grey eye feverish. It was breathtaking and overpowering and, Jūshirō realized, utterly unpleasant. 

When he managed to break their embrace Jūshirō was disheveled. He was still wearing jeans and the partially unbuttoned linen shirt. His hair was ruffed and his lips swollen. He covered his eyes with his palms and drew in a deep breath.

"I thought it was evident by now..."

"Evident?" He hissed, bringing their chests together with arm strength, breathing straight into the other man’s face. "What is evident now? That you've unleashed your inner whore..." And to mark his words he slid one hand between Jūshirō's buttocks and squeezed hard. "... Or that you intend to desert your post, Captain Ukitake?"

"Shunsui, why is it that you come for me now? The last I recall you were seeing me off and telling me to have fun."

"The last I recall you were damn hard to get, not a fool who's been fucking everything that moves all the way down from the Arctic Circle."

With that, Shunsui's hand slid around Jūshirō's hip and plunged between his legs, squeezing again. For the third time he ravished Jūshirō's mouth.

"So this is why you came for me?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Jūshirō. I want you, yes, but that’s not why I came for you. And it's not why I moved the depths of hell to get you healed either.”

The words hit Jūshirō hard like a slap. What was this? Shunsui claiming possession over him because he had arranged for his treatment? This kind of bullshit had never before crossed the lips of the man he loved.

“When was the last time you counted the captains of the Gotei? How many remain that can command? Don't you see? Yama and Retsu are gone. Kuchiki needs another 100, maybe 200 years. Hitsugaya 500 at least. The Kenpachi? Mayuri? Soi fon? The visored? Kurosaki? Don't make me laugh!"

Shunsui's grip eased. Both men just stood face to face now. Jūshirō took in the other's image for the first time. He was tired. His stubble had grown into a beard proper, his eye stared lonely and forlorn into the void… and... he had grey hair? Yes, clearly so. Behind the ears on both sides, stretched towards the tie of his ponytail, above his forehead and dotting his chin. 'Shun...' Once again his mellow heart was getting the best of him.

"...so if I die no one can take my post, no one but you Jūshirō."

Jūshirō cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

"I have made it clear that I will return immediately should the Gotei require my service."

Shunsui's reiatsu spiked.

"You fool!"

He clutched Jūshirō's neck and pinned him to the wall behind him. 

"That will not do. I want you back!"

The last part came out as a half-growl and Jūshirō felt a dangerous energy rising up within, in his gut, in his chest. 

He was restrained and he would eventually react - they both knew it - but the one claiming his neck, claiming his very ability to breathe, to live, was none other than Shunsui, and that took the situation to a whole different level.

Longing, anger, desire, defense, all rushed through him at once, as the chain of words that he knew so well began echoing in his mind. ‘All waves rise now…’

And while Jūshirō calmly recited inside his head – ‘…become my shield…’ – Shunsui kept spitting anger filled words to his face -

"... And there's no way I'm letting the second most powerful shinigami alive idle around while soul society is in shambles!"

And Jūshirō’s incantation came to a stop – 

‘… and become my blade’.

\---

Rukia had been worried since earlier in the afternoon. The Captain Commander had visited her small office to let her know he'd be meeting captain Ukitake in her stead. 

"Is anything wrong?"

"No no, just want to check if he brought my souvenir."

'He didn't even bother to come up with a decent excuse.' She thought. 

She went back to her business with that unrest in the back of her mind. As the evening set in and the time she was supposed to meet the captain came, her restlessness began to surface. And then it happened. She was midway through a patrolling roster when she felt the captain's reiatsu nearby. It wasn't his usual controlled presence, it was something more... jumpy? She hurried to his office and slid the door open. 

The smell of tatami emerged, fresh and homey. She was stepping in when a blue glow reminiscent of an electric current flashed from the middle of the large study. When her eyes adjusted to the low light she saw where it came from. Streaks of lightning ran through the threads of the haori. The captain was nowhere to be seen but his reiatsu kept rising steadily, until it ceased abruptly. At that moment the haori stopped glowing and sogyo no kotowari vanished from its stand, dematerializing under Rukia's eyes.

\---

"Just who is it that I am second to, Shunsui?"

Jūshirō was still wearing his jeans and shirt but his twin blades had materialized in his hands. Shunsui was forced back a few steps by a blast of reiatsu. Then, for a moment they only measured their strengths. They had always been leveled, but now there was an elephant in the room. Acknowledging it put the Captain Commander in a particularly delicate position.

"You know, Jūshirō, that if - and I say if - you currently surpass me, it's because your handicap has been removed."

"And what of it?"

The defiance in his voice surprised even Jūshirō himself. They fell into silence once more. Quietly Shunsui summoned the senkeimon. With the door behind him he faced the other man again. Jūshirō could distinguish a slight change surfacing in Shunsui's expression, a trace of something familiar. A hint of respect? Appreciation? Care? Love?

"Fine. Take your time. But I will come back some time soon. We will have to talk then."

Jūshirō lowered his gaze. As the door disappeared, Shunsui with it, his sword went back to sealed state and he carefully laid it against the wall. He kneeled for a while, motionless, staring into an empty space that didn't exist in the small living room. Then he collapsed on his side, hugged his knees and let tears flow freely from his eyes.


	3. Two Carps

Soon after Jūshirō left, a slight headache settled in. Alma blamed it on the wine and ignored it. She leaned down, legs over the arm of the sofa, laptop propped below her ribs. Something was bothering her, so she turned to every loner’s best friend, the internet.

She looked up ‘lung transplants’ and confirmed her fears: survival rate after 5 years is around 20%. ‘Fuck, that is not good.’ But why did she care? She had met this guy only a few hours ago. Still, the thought made her heartbeat quicken. She put the laptop away and closed her eyes, casting away the apprehension, and instead she began reliving the afternoon in her head. In that very sofa, they had sat side by side.

Her efforts to forget the headache were not succeeding. In addition, she started feeling nauseous. Gathering some strength, she went looking for water. On her way back from the kitchen, though, she felt her balance dwindle, as if the ground had suddenly become unstable. The half filled glass dropped and rolled, leaving a path of liquid on the floor. Alma lowered herself, succumbing to the pressure, until she was lying down.

‘Why do I feel so weak? I was fine just now. Maybe it’s about to rain, or is it something worse? Oh man, only been here a month and already an earthquake?’

That was her last conscious thought. After that, her deepest fears took control of her mind. The earth was shaking and there was water everywhere. Turmoil. Footsteps stomping above her. She could see the world through the surface as in a mirror. Then someone pulled her up, hung her by the armpits like a baby cat, tossed her around through cracked pavements, along rows of shattered facades.

Legions of masked men marched through in their rubber suits. They all seemed to move without destination, platoons would come and go and take different turns, some holding strange instruments, some running, some simply walking by. There were no civilians except for a few ragged children begging for food.

Her carrier came to a halt near a riverbank. She was thrown on a pile of rubble, where two figures stood – a voluptuous one-eyed woman with bones in her hair and a skinny girl wearing a mask. They were silent and menacing and pinning her to the ground with their overwhelming power. ‘The end of the world?’ she thought. Then another wave came and washed everything away.

She lost control completely, carried by the wave, inside its suffocating belly of water, powerless, almost lifeless, scared. And then the wave retreated and all water was drained into the guts of the earth. She was back on the ground, lying still, no one around, no one alive, only a pair of dying carps splattering water in a puddle.

\---

Jūshirō had been lying on the floor for a long time. The tears had left him in a blank state of stillness. He was slowly pulling himself back to consciousness when he heard the lock on the flat below click open and a tired voice say “Tadaima!”. No reply met the man’s greeting.

“Shit! The neighbors!” – the realization sinking in.

‘Did that guy live alone?’ He raised his torso and pressed his temples, fighting off a mild headache. The blasts of reiatsu Shunsui and him had thrown at each other had been strong enough to ground a standard shinigami. Let alone humans. Let alone children. ‘Were there any children living nearby?’ His chest was beginning to tighten in panic. He should have put up a barrier. How could he be so full of himself, thinking he would never lose control?

The pottery shop on the ground floor had been closed. He tried to remember when he’d last seen the owner, an old widower from Takayama. A few weeks?

And then a cry broke out, the “ah” prolonged until all air came out and the man was out of breath. Jūshirō rushed downstairs. He didn’t have any particular memory of the first floor neighbors. He knocked. The door opened. A distressed face met his. It belonged to a thin man in his thirties, still in his office wear and thick rimmed glasses. He said:

“Bulma-chan is dead.” He seemed on the brink of tears. Jūshirō’s worst fears embodied in those eyes.

“She was not even one year old.” And he lowered his gaze to the lifeless being cradled in his arms. She was small and fury and had big wide ears. “I called her Bulma because of her bluish fur. She was my only friend.” And he cried.

‘I killed a chinchilla.’ Jūshirō could not determine if he felt guilty, sorry or slightly stupid. He offered his sympathies and prepared to leave. He had to check on Alma. She was probably at home, and if so, she had been hit head on by the blast. But the pet-loving neighbor seemed intent on recruiting him as his new best friend.

When he managed to console the neighbor and take his leave, he had offered to have a beer with him some time, and a good twenty minutes had passed. He now worried desperately for Alma and so he took to the stairs once again.

“Alma, are you there?” he knocked gently. No answer. He didn’t expect one. He tried the door knob. It was locked. ‘Kido or brute force?’ he wondered for a split second. He made up his mind and tried it.

“Bakudō #4: Hainawa.” The string of light snaked from his hand, through the door gap, forcing the lock and making it snap open. He called off the spell and walked in.

Alma lay on her side on the floor, neatly. ‘She lowered herself, that’s not a bad sign.’

She had a pulse and was breathing normally, there was no sign of trauma, but she was unconscious. He sighed in relief as he scooped her in his arms and walked to her bedroom.

Her eyes opened briefly as he laid her on the futon.

“Jūshirō-san… is the earthquake over yet?” she asked.

“Yes, everything is fine now. I’m here.”

“Hmm. Good.” And she went to sleep again.

Lying down her shorts seemed to squeeze her skin rather uncomfortably. ‘I should loosen them…’ The though sent a small electric current down his spine. ‘Nonsense, Jūshirō. Just do it.’ He brought his fingers to the button tucked below her navel and slowly undid it. She shifted ever so slightly, and purred in approval. He covered her with the kilt, then stood up to go back home.

He looked around the small room. There were few items besides the futon. She was still living out of a suitcase that remained open next to the window. She had piled some books outside of it and seemed to have been in the process of assembling a clothes rack, that stood unfinished against the wall. ‘I ought to give her a hand some time…’ he thought.

Not really knowing why, he tiptoed around her sleeping figure and kneeled down next to the books. He took one and flipped through it, stopping on a few random pages. But the room was just barely lit by the distant glow of street lights, and he didn’t want to disturb the girl’s rest. He leaned back against the wall and watched her for a while.

Why was he still there? Did he dread being lonely? He could slide in and join her under the covers. She slept soundly, she seemed warm. No, he would just watch and make sure she was ok. Because it was his fault that she had lost consciousness.

His vigil did not last long, though. His own exhaustion trumped his concern as he slid down to the floor, falling asleep at her feet.

\---

Jūshirō was the first to wake up next morning. The sunlight poured on his face through the window and he realized where he was. He glanced at the sleeping figure. She looked alright. He rose and went to the bathroom, relieved himself and splashed some water on his face. Walking lazily to the living room he picked up the fallen glass and returned it to the kitchen, before making his way back to the bedroom.

He sat by her side. In her sleep her hair seemed even more unruly than he remembered from the day before. Finger length curls in a jumble covered most of her face, framed her bronzed skin. ‘It looks quite lovely’, he thought ‘… a bit like… no, no, I shouldn’t compare’.

But it was too late and his mind was already drifting back to those early days at the academy. They were boys. Well, they were not exactly young by human count, but they were pure. Could he still say the same now? How could souls so tarnished by lust and death belong in a court of pure souls?

His hand came half way towards her curls. ‘What am I doing?’ He closed his eyes and leaned a bit closer, his nose a mere palm away. ‘Coconut’, he guessed, and then his hand raked through her hair, lightly, lovingly. ‘This is not fair. I am not being fair.’ But on he went caressing the girl’s locks. That slow motion was soothing his wounded heart, making good what had gone haywire. He laid a kiss on the top of her head, and he was about to whisper ‘I love you’ when he came to his senses.

“Wrong, this is wrong. I can’t do this.”

But his fingers were still tangled in her locks when her eyes met his. He should have apologized and retreated before more damage was done. But he just kept staring. She looked back at him, sleepy and languid, and his hand moved again. His thumb travelled to her ear, her cheek. His index traced eyebrows and slid down her nose, pressing on plump lips. She parted them and cradled the intruding finger in the wetness of her mouth. He continued his descent, painting a line down her chin, through her neck, in through her tank top.

“Kiss me Jūshirō.”

He was losing this battle. He wanted to.

“Please don’t fall in love with me.” He pleaded.

She chuckled, a shadow of nonchalance passing by. Then she pulled his head closer, and they kissed.

\---

Alma was still giddy from sleep when she felt Jūshirō’s tender scalp massage, when his scent came close: mint and nighttime perspiration. She kept her eyes closed for a while and when she opened them she already knew what to say. The longing in his eyes as he kept touching her was as arousing as it was disquieting, for it was clear his heart and mind were somewhere distant. ‘But right now you are here and there is no good reason to stop what you’ve started’ she decided.

She slid out of her top as he pulled it over her head and helped him out of an already unbuttoned shirt. She remembered his lithe figure from watching him dance, but there, wrapped in the veil of intimacy, she was delighted to explore it with restless hands.

Eventually all clothes were discarded and their bodies engaged in a kind of naked splicing. Contact alone was bringing Alma to rapture but he kept her aflame with skillful touches, the warmth of his breath, his travelling tongue.

After a while, though, a wrinkle popped on this forehead and he seemed to be losing steam, despite her encouragement. He looked around, scanning. ‘Right, Mr. Safe Sex…’ she laughed to herself.

“Bottom of the suitcase...”

“Oh” he replied and stretched his arm to the open case. And that was another spectacle in itself. Jūshirō bent backwards while straddling her, hips propped up, hair falling back, almost brushing his well shaped bottom, and that lean and upright rod, standing proudly awake as its owner fished for condoms. She brought her hands up and encased it, rubbing, milking, teasing, until he removed them and pinned them up above her head. He slid in smoothly and began to roll in and out, meeting her motion.

It was exhilarating and beautiful. Morning light shining through the tent of his hair, the slow deliberate rocking of his hips, the maddening grinding, his wet kisses. She could go on forever. But then he asked-

“Would it be alright if I turned you over?”

Her heart sunk a little. She always found it undignified and rather beastly to do it that way. But she nodded and let him lead her body to the position. Soon he was thrusting back in, his hands steadying her by the hips, then reaching underneath, diligently, to bring her back onboard. His other hand strayed to her hair, to her boyish locks that he’d been worshipping all morning. He went slow and deep and his strokes nudged that swelling spot inside her, the one that’s always so hard to find. She grew more excited, burying her moans in the pillows. And that was when quiet Jūshirō became vocal. His voice erupted thick and deep. He picked up pace and so did his breathing, his voice. Triggering the pressure that had built up within her, he brought on the spasm of that little death. He thrust faster, and soon it was his body trembling against hers, everything going still and finally both collapsing in exhaustion.

“We should freshen up”, she said. They stood up and walked together, holding hands.

“Go ahead first” she encouraged, as she ushered him to the diminutive shower-tub.

“Come with me.”

“It’s too tiny. Go ahead, really.”

But he wouldn’t let go, so she followed him in. She turned on the shower and awkwardly bent sideways to grab a handful of soap. She dabbed it on Jūshirō’s shoulders, then spread the foam to his chest and back, then to his buttocks, slick hands probing soft skin and lean flesh. He repeated it on her.

As he rinsed the last clouds of shampoo from her hair he cradled her face between his palms. And he looked. The water still pouring on them, steam rising and swelling. They stood still, and Jūshirō kept looking. He was seizing that image in his mind, breaking it apart from that other face he yearned for. This was Alma, the woman he’d just made love to. She had beautiful hair, which was hers alone. His hands slid through it, down to her neck, shoulders, torso, and rested on her hips. He said in a low voice -

“ _You’ve tamed me_.”

The words brought her back from a blissful haze. ‘Wait, what did he say?’

“I most certainly did not tame you, Jūshi-”

“ _…And now you are responsible for me, and I’m responsible for you._ ”

It finally made sense. “You’ve been reading my books!” she acknowledged. And then she giggled. And he giggled. And their lips came together. ‘What a funny thing to say.’ And so her fears, his guilt, all flowed down the drain together with their sweat, the semen and the soap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ops! The girl scored first! Hope ShunUki fans out there are not too upset!!
> 
> As you might have noticed, this story will (tentatively) have 6 chapters, so we're half way through. Next chapter will come with more plot and a change of setting.
> 
> Finally, I made the rookie mistake of not asking for this earlier... but it would be really really cool to have the following chapters beta-read (also up for revising the previous ones). Any kind souls out there? I would be forever grateful!
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading and hope you've enjoyed it!


	4. Borrowed Scenery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of gardens and conspiracies...

“I want to show you a place.”

“What kind of place?”

“A garden.”

For over a week Alma and Jūshirō had been meeting after sundown. They would occasionally have chores to attend to during the day, but, more often than not, they would wait for the sun to set for no reason at all - other than, perhaps, the conventional notion that what they do belongs in the dark. 

Jūshirō would go up a flight of stairs carrying a plate of snacks or sweets. Alma would have a little something for them to drink and munch. They would buy cooked food when they both felt lazy.

One evening Jūshirō brought a pack of wire hangers and they finally set up the rack and unpacked Alma’s clothes. 

Jūshirō would leisurely flip through the pages of her books, now neatly arranged in a low shelf, or he would watch her sketch and offer his opinion. They would squeeze in the small sofa watching random performances, clips or movies on her laptop, but most of the times, they would end up tangled on the floor while the laptop idled away unwatched. 

He took a liking to making up stories for the characters she had inked in several parts of her body. They were these whimsical, childish things, that could have jumped out of fairytales. And fairytales he told, with all the color of a grandfather’s ingenuous imagination. 

Sometimes he would stay till morning, sometimes he would excuse himself after tucking her in bed. 

Since moving to Kyoto, he had wanted to visit a particular garden, belonging to a Buddhist temple in Higashiyama. The idea of bringing someone along had not crossed his mind until late one night. It was an impulse of the moment. They were laying in each other’s arms under the covers. He was stroking her hair as she slowly wandered to sleep. 

“Are you free tomorrow morning, Alma -chan?” 

The question made her jolt one eye open. She hummed in assent and fell back into a peaceful slumber. 

Morning came and he went downstairs to change. He quickly showered, slipped into a pair of black jeans and pulled a shirt from the wardrobe. As he tied his hair he looked himself in the mirror. The image made him quiver. 

‘I am going pale again’. 

All was so much easier under the sun. Free love. What was this thing he had going on now? She would say perhaps a fling, hot sex with the neighbor. He would certainly be ridiculed if he tried to patronize her in any way. But should her feelings change… ‘What face will she see then? That of a lover, or that of a demon?’ 

The doorbell rang and he went out, throwing a jacket over his shoulder. They took the subway to Higashiyama. Alma had been around that area, she had walked the philosopher’s path and visited a few temples, but she didn’t recall the particular place Jūshirō wanted to show her. 

They took a right turn outside the station and went through a tunnel. On the other side the town seemed to change into a village. A boy walked down the road carrying some gardening tools into one of the fancy looking estates. The floor was wet from the night’s downpour but the sun had started peeking between clouds. 

They breathed in the smell of damp earth and enjoyed the silence, walking side by side. Alma looked almost girly in a cotton navy dress, but the boyishness clang to her long strides, and the way her red converse would slap on the wet tar, splashing water at her passage.

“You look pretty.” He said casually.

“Thanks. You look quite handsome yourself.”

After buying the tickets, a smiley attendant led them into the garden. They circled a small pond with turtles, and came into a stone path padded in vibrant green moss and flanked by trees. A torii gate towered grey over the path. Alma wondered, could it be a door to another world, one where spirits abide and Eastern myths unfold. 

Along the way there was a small darkened pagoda. Jūshirō passed by, seemingly ignoring the feature. He carried on, along yet another narrow path, skirting around ponds and lovely compositions of stones, bushes, trees and moss. He would brush his fingers on garden lanterns, stones, fences, as if oblivious or deep in thought. Alma fell behind him a few steps, giving him space, letting him be. She heard him whisper to himself –

“When it snows, set a red blossom in a vase.” But realizing Alma was following in silence he raised his voice to an audible tone: “Can we visit the tea house? Is it open?”

“I’m afraid not, I saw a no-passage sign.”

“That’s a shame.”

“What was the dark shrine just now?”

“Oh… that was a shrine Ieyasu ordered for himself. I think they put his hair inside it.”

“Really?”

“Hay." The roll of his eyes expressing what he thought of the Shogun.

And so they entered the dry landscape garden, where they found the only other visitors in the whole compound: a small group of elderly tourists and a lady who was offering prayers in the main hall. Jūshirō signaled Alma to sit by his side on the hall’s wooden steps, facing the garden. 

“This is what I wanted to show you: borrowed scenery.”

And Jūshirō made a broad sweep with his arm, showcasing the silhouette of mountains that rose above the garden seamlessly. 

“It’s beautiful indeed.” She said. “Ingenious and, in a way, eternal.”

“The trees have grown and there are other small differences but, yes, it still…” and he stopped, changed track. “Beyond the sea of gravel there are two formations – the turtle and crane islands. Can you see them? The turtle is the big boulder with the smaller stones around it, and on the other side is the crane – the long stone is the neck, stretched forward as if in flight.”

“The crane reminds me of you.”

“Me?” He blushed.

She smiled, and he briefly covered her hand with his, removing it immediately at the thought that there was someone praying behind them.

“What’s the bit in the middle, the one surrounded by pebbles?”

“That island represents Mt. Horai, the dwelling of the immortals.”

She chuckled, gave it a second’s consideration and then asked - “Jūshirō, what are your views on life and death?”

He looked at her, scrunching his eyebrows in that now familiar fashion. 

“Do you think such a place exists? And what makes us humans imagine it in so many different ways? Heaven, Olympus, Avalon, the Lokas, Mt. Horai…”

“I don’t know.” He lied. “You?”

“I don’t know either! I’ve been agnostic most of my adult life… but I’ve always wondered…”

The group of elderly tourists swung away towards the exit. Jūshirō and Alma were left alone, except for the praying lady and her pair of modest brown shoes resting on the wooden steps. 

For a moment there, with Alma by his side, he thought that he could tell her everything. It would be a mistake. She was just a human, and - what did she call herself? – agnostic... Yet, somehow, in that place, with the memories it conjured... 

But they just sat in silence, eyes travelling through the ancient stone arrangements, the beauty of it all. 

In that same place, some 400 years before, he had sat with the tea master contemplating the same scenery. At the time, there had been no need for explanations, for the master saw him crisp and clear in his spirit form. The crane’s neck a memento of Jūshirō’s thin pale torso, while he lay on the ground, watching turtles in the pond. But that was a secret that never made it beyond the garden’s walls.

\---

Captains’ meetings had become eerie after the war. Rukia was standing in for Captain Ukitake for the third time. She stood in front of Mayuri and Toshiro, and the now one-armed Kenpachi was next to her. Then there was Byakuya, Hirako Shinji and Soi Fon. So many empty spaces, so many fallen. 

The Captain Commander was, once again, late. Kyoraku was well-known for lounging around, but it seemed to be getting worse by the day. 

He finally entered the room, stepping lazily and reeking of sake. 

“Enter”, he ordered out loud. 

A messenger took two steps into the room and lowered himself on one knee. 

“Repeat what you’ve told me.”

The messenger started in a flat tone:

“Message from Central 46 regarding rogue and missing members of the Gotei 13: It has come to our attention that several shinigami of captain level or above are not present in Soul Society and/or have not been accounted for as of this date. We urge you to undertake the necessary diligences to locate and retrieve all such individuals, namely: Urahara Kisuke, Shihōin Yoruichi, Shiba Isshin, Kurosaki Ichigo and the Captain of the Thirteenth Division, Ukitake Jūshirō. In case of failure to provide satisfactory information in a timely manner, further action will be sought from the Punishment Force.”

Rukia growled to herself. This was unbelievable, even coming from them. 

“So, what do you folks say? Where did all these fine people go?” asked Kyoraku, as he waved to the messenger in dismissal.

“I can account for Isshin Shiba. I have paid visit to him and his daughters in the human world.” Toshiro reported. 

“Yokata!” he mocked “One down.”

“I would have thought Ukitake’s whereabouts were not unknown either.” Offered Soi Fon.

“Oh right. How strange that Central 46 was not made aware…” Kyoraku noted. But his tone was still one of bitter satire. He lowered himself into the curule seat that had replaced Yamamoto’s chair, and passed his leg over the curved wooden arm.

“Let’s play a game.” He said, reclining slanted in the seat.

“Bring me Kurosaki’s head and I’ll make you Sōtaichō.”

‘Madness?’. The thought crept to Rukia’s mind.

“How does that sound? I could then live up my days in an onsen town, eat and drink and have my ancient bones rubbed by graceful young hands. Then, when I got tired of that too, I could drink myself to a stupor and drown in the bath.”

The Kenpachi’s reiatsu roared, Toshiro gritted his teeth. The room fell into stone cold silence. Madness, or a game? Could it still be an after-effect of his bankai? As if unable to bear the silence of his peers, Kyoraku rose and left the room. The meeting was over and the captains began to disperse. Rukia was also making her way out when a hand landed on her shoulder.

“We meet at the manor in one hour.”

“Hai, Nii-sama.”

\---

She came across Renji at the entrance and he directed her silently to Byakuya’s private tea room. It was a small space that could accommodate a maximum of three or four guests, set in a secluded garden. 

There was a single calligraphy scroll on the wall and an arrangement of white camellias. Byakuya came in minutes later, bringing Captain Hitsugaya, who knocked his head on the low entrance and blamed his new stature while cursing between teeth. If it weren’t for the gravity of the situation, Rukia would have found it fairly entertaining.

“Thank you all for being here.” Byakuya began. With the solemn look on his face, his next words could well be ‘this is our darkest hour’.

“I want to make it clear that, except for one person that will join us shortly, you are the only three people I trust with what will be said here today.” 

He kept his eyes downcast as he picked up the bamboo ladle, brought it to the water pot and started rinsing a chasen and tea bowls. 

“It is now undeniable that the Captain Commander’s mind is in a dire state. Today’s performance was, I believe, a fairly clear sign. But I am afraid his dark sense of humor is not the issue we will need to address with the most haste.”

Toushiro, as a captain, spoke first:

“We all know the Central’s order is bullshit. The Kurosakis have been nothing but loyal and helpful. Urahara and Yoruichi might be dead, or in Hueco Mundo, for all we know, and the same goes for them.”

Rukia added:

“Captain Kyoraku may be upset, but Ichigo’s disappearance may well be his fault. Why would he go and tell his friends that he might not make it back – that he might not be allowed back?”

“Yet somehow it doesn’t sound like Ichigo. I see him more easily wrecking Kyoraku’s face and mowing his way out than running away.” Renji noted.

“That is quite true.” Byakuya pondered.

“Do you think Captain Shiba could give any clues, if we were to explain what the Central is up to?”

“He would not nail his own son, Renji!”

They let Rukia’s outburst fade. Toushiro took a sip of tea, then emerged of a pensive frown.

“What bogs me in all this is Ukitake. Kuchiki, you’ve been with him, haven’t you?”

“Yes. The Captain is simply resting. Why would they want to disturb him?”

“And there lies the true enigma.” 

“What do you mean, Taicho?”

“Renji, I need you to assist me from now on. Use your reiastu and make sure no one approaches this room, except for the person we are expecting.”

“Yes, Taicho.”

“As you may know, the Kuchiki family has traditionally been represented in Central 46. The current line-up is no exception. And so I have had word from within the Central – and this is, obviously, a matter of the utmost secrecy - about the Sōtaichō’s nightly visits to a certain prisoner.”

“Shit, Kuchiki, you can’t be serious.”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

Rukia’s hands had clenched into fists, Renji was scowling, Toushiro’s eyelids fell, heavy, over his turquoise eyes. 

“But what does this have to do with Captain Ukitake?” Rukia burst out again, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know. There might be something going on that we are not aware of. But, before we take any other measures, we need to figure Kyoraku out. And to do that, I can see no better way than getting Ukitake back here as soon as possible.”

“But, Nii-sama… how am I going to tell him all this?”

“In fact, Rukia, I have asked someone else to bear this burden.”

“But who would do it?”

“I will.” Said the slender woman as she entered the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am guilty of messing around with historical personalities here (sorry and hope no one is offended): Kobori Enshu was a tea master and master gardener. He is credited has having designed the garden described in this chapter (which, by the way, is called Konchi-in and is beautiful). The line about snow and red blossoms is also attributed to him. No reference to him seeing shinigami in the historical sources, though!
> 
> Also, two casual Depeche Mode references!
> 
> And finally a visit to Soul Society. Any guesses on what might happen next?
> 
> Update: check out a side story based on this chapter. It's called "The Crane and the Garden Master", it's set in the Edo period, and can be found at http://archiveofourown.org/works/7102630


	5. Il Principe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long afternoon in Sereitei.

“ _I will do it_ ”.

‘Bold. Or was it foolish?’

Kuchiki Byakuya knew that she knew, and so their dialogue had been as easy as it had been cryptic. She had her reservations about talking to the man. She was sure she hadn’t been in Ukitake’s best graces as of late. But still, she knew she could pull it off. She would bow her head to the mat, but she would pull it off, _damn it_.

‘For _him_ , for all of us.’

And so she tied up her hair, put on her glasses and walked out of her room. She peeked through the small gap between the door and the frame and saw him sleeping, sprawled, chest and one leg uncovered. It had been nothing but a fantasy. How pretentious of her. But that was not at all relevant anymore. She left a smile hovering in the dense morning air. And off she went.

 ---

 

A day went by. The next morning elapsed, and the afternoon glided in. From the long and wide balcony outside the Captain Commander’s office one could observe the whole Sereitei and the plains of Rukongai, well beyond the walls. A fine landscape of ivory, green and blue. 

He sat on the crimson railing, facing east, to the district where he had grown up. He waited. He had been there for a good half hour when steps drew near on the wooden floor, and with them that unmistakable presence. He spoke without taking his eyes off the horizon.

“Tell me Shunsui, what is the worst kind of lust? The lust for power, the lust for blood, or the one we share?”

 Shunsui looked around as he entered the office, that familiar voice putting a smile on his face. Against the outside clarity Jūshirō looked just like a stray cat, leaning on a pillar, legs stretched over the railing, wearing black form-fitting human clothes. Agile like the animal he resembled, he leapt down and walked inside.

“I thought you always preferred to call it love.” He knew the white-haired nymph would smirk at that.

They closed the space between them, came face to face at center of the large office.

“I knew you'd come.” 

“We need to talk.”

“Can't we talk later? I've waited for so long...”

“Shun...”

The words fell short. He didn't know how to say them. Shunsui took a deep breath.

“Yare yare, no need to sulk, puts wrinkles on your pretty face. Talk it is.”

He walked Jūshirō to his private study and prompted him to sit.

“Sake?”

But he was already fetching both the sake bottle and the tea pot. A gesture repeated endless times, their whole life in two recipients.

“Wait!” Shunsui froze at the call. “I left something on your desk… your souvenir…”

Shunsui smiled ear to ear as he walked back to the main office to fetch the present. Jūshirō took two cups from the tea cabinet and settled on the floor, leaning on a cushion.

“What on earth is this, Shirō-chan?” Shunsui asked as he hovered the open bottle under the tip of his nose. “Are you trying to poison me out of revenge?”

“Well, not that you don’t deserve it. But no, it’s not poison, it’s gin - quite appreciated in the west. It is said that a human queen has it every day before lunch and remains healthy despite her old age…”

“Always so thoughtful in finding ways to call me old...” 

Shunsui brought himself down to the floor, facing Jūshirō, and placed the bottle next to him. The serenity in the other man’s face tricked him into forgetting the purpose of his visit. He began to pour the liquor. This would help him pull out the words stuck in his throat.

“Jūshirō, I am sorry for the other day.”

Jūshirō accepted the small cup and gave a slight bow.

“We shall talk about that later. Just don’t go crazy on me again. And go easy on the gin, it’s much stronger than sake.”

Shunsui smiled again. All this was so familiar. He could forget everything else, lose himself in that fleeting moment. But once again he pulled himself out of the rabbit hole just in time.

“Right, talk… Go ahead, I'm all ears.”

“Well firstly, we seem to have a problem with the Central. Should I present myself to them, or do you have another plan?”

“Bunch of idle cowards. Got the nerve to ask about Kurosaki. Do they have any idea… no, do they even care? And Kisuke, Yoruichi, Isshin, all of them could have lived in exile without giving two shits about all this, and yet they came and wrecked their asses. And you, Shirō, they also had to pick on you, of all people…”

“Yes, yes, I know. But as for the problem at hand…”

“Forget about that, I’ll settle it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes… Alright, one down. Give me more, Shirō-chan.”

Jūshirō smiled at his friend’s pleasant mood. So unlike the last time they’d met. He cleared his throat for another uncomfortable subject. 

“It came to my attention that you’ve made distasteful remarks during a captain’s meeting… and that some now fear for your sanity.”

“Oh, please! Don’t these people understand jokes?”

“Your jokes, Shunsui? Not everyone.”

“Besides, who among them should have the presumption to know me well enough to say that I’m going crazy?”

“The person who came to me seems to know you well enough… although she seemed convinced that I am the only being in the universe capable of dealing with you.”

“Should I be disappointed that you didn’t come back just because you missed me?”

“I guess I would have, eventually. But tell me, Shunsui, what have you done that has left Ise Fukutaicho so dissatisfied?

“Uh?” Shunsui’s face turned into a comical mask of surprise. “Nanao-chan, dissatisfied?”

Jūshirō faked a pained frown.

“Shunsui, can we be adults for once?”

Shunsui sighed.

“I'm not like you Shirō Chan. I can’t play romance. Protect her by brute force. That's something I can do. But I don’t think I can be what she hoped I could become”

“So it is true. You never touched her.” 

“Did she say that?”

“Among other things.”

“It’s not true. I wish it was. Only once. Maybe it was the pain of losing you, or Katen’s dark sexual energy, or just my damn stupidity… but I _did_ touch her.”

Jūshiro was slightly unsettled for a moment, but he carried on.

“So, since you couldn’t decide what to do about it, you took her under your wing even more, making everyone believe you were taking her as a partner?”

“I guess so. I’m a lazy bastard, you know that… I fell for you all those centuries ago and then I stopped thinking about it. Us, it was something that didn't require thinking - it was just right. But on that day, when I had no option but to push forward and leave you behind, that part of my soul shattered. I’ve been picking up the shards ever since.”

Once more, Jūshiro fell silent, considering what to make of this strangely candid confession. ‘Oh, I think I get it…’ and he lowered his gaze, apologetically. 

“Ironic isn't it? Most would be surprised that you are the faithful one among us two.”

“Oh you know I never cared about that kind of thing. I always thought you deserved to be appreciated... as the beautiful man you are. I wouldn't be so selfish as to keep you all to myself.”

Jūshirō’s eyelids slid shut, flushed cheek leaning in to the hand he knew was already half way in the air to meet him. He let the touch linger for a little while – a soft, familiar touch - then raised his head again.

“You don’t need to romance her if you don’t want to, but you do need to have an honest talk with her. She’s an adult now, and a very perceptive one at that.”

“I will. I just don’t want to break her heart.”

“You don’t need to. You could… give it a try… I know the idea may seem weird or even devious, but think about it... It might be good for you, if… in case I’m not around.”

“Fuck, Jūshirō. So you are leaving me…”

“No... I… I don’t know.”

“You’ve found someone… I knew Kyoto was dangerous for you.”

“I thought you weren’t upset about that...”

“Na… you did inspire some pretty gardens…”

Jūshirō wacked Shunsui’s shoulder and gave him a death stare. The unexpectedly funny reaction made Shunsui bold. He poked the other man's flank and tickled him, making him contort and giggle. They both started laughing. But they eventually fell silent, and Jūshirō’s face turned into serious mode again.

“That’s not the reason. But even so, it’s not the same, Shun. She… thinks I’m human.”

“I see. Well, that's a problem.”

“Is it, Shunsui? How much of a problem can it be?”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me, why did I have to come to you in a gigai and not in my spiritual form?”

Shunsui's gaze went blank, his face expressionless.

“So it is happening...” 

“The last time I tried to leave the gigai I went without air after a few seconds. I tried to resist but had to dive back in before going blank. It was frightening. Shunsui, I don’t want to do it again...”

“I thought that might happen. I am so sorry, Jūshirō… I am so so sorry…”

Jūshirō's eyes were welling up, they demanded an answer, Shunsui decided he had to man up and tell him. _Everything_.

“That doctor… he said he could not do that thing he did with you in your shinigami form… it was too unstable, too wrecked. So we had to get you in a gigai and… give you human organs.”

Jūshirō’s hand came to his chest as if by instinct, his face pale, his eyes wide. He tried to regain his footing, he had to continue with his enquiries, no matter how awful it all felt. All doubts and contradictions, all that he had asked himself in silence, all was becoming clear.

“But if you gave me a human heart, if I breathe through human lungs and if I… if I might lose the ability to transform into a shinigami... Then how is it possible that I never before felt closer to Sogyo no Kotowari? I was able to summon them directly from Soul Society and… I feel we suddenly can do anything, beat any foe…”

Shunsui steadied his breath. This was too important for him to mess up.

“The doctor said that when they do this thing in humans it only lasts a while, a few years, and then the organs fail again. I couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t bring you back just to make you go through it again, you see? When a man fulfills his mission and perishes, it is vile to bring him back for selfish reasons. So I thought that there might be another way... a way to bring you back and give you the life you always hoped for.”

“And so you went to him?”

“Jūshirō...” 

“Tell me. You know I never judged you!”

“They had you stabilized, but the time was running out. We received the organs. Even that was... Someone was top of the waiting list and was left waiting. I am a ruthless man. Too much so. But I don’t regret it the least bit. I went down to the Muken. We discussed it through and through, with half words and implied meanings, the way he always does. A nerve wreaking negotiation. We finally agreed upon a plan and I took Sogyo no Kotowari down there. I remember feeling you in the blade, holding it to my chest and trusting that, somehow, this crazy plan would work. I pierced him with it, and then I pierced you. And then they did the transplant. I didn’t know what would happen to your powers, or how it would turn out…”

“So the hogyoku ended up sealing Sogyo no Kotowari together with my soul in the gigai…”

“Well, it seems that was part of it. But not all. That wicked thing is supposed to break boundaries and grant wishes, right? So I assumed that by bringing it to you, your innermost wishes would somehow come to life. But just to be on the safe side, I made a wish myself, upon your blade: for you to live long and fulfill your dreams.”

“Shun…”

“I can’t tell you how long you will live, but if that thing lives up to its reputation, it will be long past the logic of human medicine, well into old age. Imagine, Shirō-chan, you looking like Yama-ji!”

“Oh I wouldn’t look like him even on steroids.”

“On what?”

“Oh, nevermind…”

“Anyway, the doctor says your body should be around 40 in human years. So there you go, stay healthy and you have another 40, 50, 60… who knows, right?”

“So… I guess I need to hand in a letter for Rukia after all.”

“Well, I guess you shouldn’t try to leave your body anymore… I am sorry, I was selfish in the end.”

“No, Shun, you weren’t.”

Many words were yet unspoken, but Jūshirō couldn’t stand it anymore. He brought his lips to the other man’s forehead, to his nose, his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth. It was not erotic, not a type of foreplay. It was pure adoration. He held their foreheads together and whispered “Thank you.” Shunsui threw his arms around him and held him close. Jūshirō heard him hum – an old habit – and he smiled. 

“Shun… it pains me to break this moment, but I need to ask you one more thing.”

Their faces came no more than a few palms apart.

“What price did you have to pay?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, it’s rather hard to believe that Aizen would do something like that for free. So, what did you give him?” – But somehow Jūshirō sensed that this question did not reach the heart of the matter. He didn't allow time for an answer, he added immediately – “Shunsui, tell me: what do you plan to do as Captain Commander? What’s your project? Might it be that you and him, this new connection of yours, is something more than mutual convenience?”

“Why do you have to be so clever Shirō-chan?” he sighed.

“Because you wouldn't love a fool.”

Shunsui smirked. Sometimes it seemed to him that Jūshirō had stock answers for everything. The thinner man was already laying his head on his lap, closing his eyes. Shunsui took the cue and started stroking his hair.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, certain of what the answer would be-

“Yes, I do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one has a lot of speculation / invention. I'm fairly sure most of it will be canon-divergent - but hope it makes some sense, at least. Thank you for reading! Have a nice week y'all!


	6. Anata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On road signs and crossroads - or the meaning of gestures.

They lay in each other’s arms until sundown. Then, they walked together to the Thirteenth.

Heads turned and eyebrows arched at their passage: a familiar white-haired captain sporting rather unfamiliar garments; the highest officer of the Gotei 13 strolling leisurely down the street; and their interlocked fingers – a statement long overdue.

As they entered the Division, they were informed that a small party, led by the captain of the Sixth, awaited them.

The group was ushered into Jūshirō’s office. Captains and lieutenants sat around Ukitake’s desk, with the two older captains sitting side by side. Finally, Ukitake released his hand from Shunsui’s and settled into formal seiza.

The white haori behind his back somehow vested him in the authority of his position, but did so in an odd manner – as if the man and the post were only juxtaposed, not united as one.

He spoke to the group in his soft deep voice:

“I have heard your concerns about leadership in the Gotei 13 and I assume you are here for a follow up. I am, naturally, not in a position to overstep the authority of the Captain Commander, so I urge you to trust and respect that office, as I do. Obviously, this does not equate to blind obedience, so I also urge you to take this opportunity and raise your objections as you see fit.” 

As if taking an unrehearsed cue, Kyoraku intervened.

“Captain Kuchiki, shall we have our lieutenants fix us a meeting some time soon?”

At Byakuya’s assenting nod he prompted “Carry on, Ukitake.”

“Thank you.” He closed his eyes and, as he reopened them, the words made their way out:

“From this day onwards, I will live as a human, among humans. This is a permanent arrangement and nothing can be done to avoid it. For failing to fulfil my duties towards you, I humbly apologize.”

He bowed deeply, then he asked: 

“Byakuya, can I have the letter now?”

Byakuya pulled a scroll from his sleeve and handed it to Ukitake.

“Rukia, this is a letter subscribed by Captain Kuchiki, Captain Hitsugaya and myself, proposing you for captaincy. I give it to you and not to the Captain Commander here present, because this decision is yours alone. Take your time, but bear in mind that should you chose not to submit it, another candidate will need to be identified in the short term.”

She received the letter with both hands and bowed almost to the ground.

Then, Jūshirō stood up and went towards the door. He slid it open and stuck his head out while calling “Kiyone! Sentaro!”

They came in elbowing each other, but as they saw the solemn faces of the other shinigami, their bickering went dead quiet.

“The two of you have been remarkable in your contribution to this Division. However, I notice you have not taken enough time to hone your own skills. That has been mostly my fault, as I have relied on you more than any other superior would have. So now I leave you this instruction: you are to practice and perfect your shikai releases, and apply for promotion with any division of your choice – including this one, of course.” Then, turning to his lieutenant - “Rukia, please relay the news of my departure to the Division. The Captain Commander will bring the matter to the Central 46 and the remaining members of the Gotei.”

He finally stood up, dragged the heavy wooden pole from its rest in the frame behind his desk and removed the haori. He folded it neatly, ceremoniously, and pressed it to his chest. By this time, tears ran copiously from almost everyone’s eyes.

As they marched out of the room, Shunsui fell behind the man he loved, like a bodyguard. Jūshirō toured around the division and personally said his goodbyes to every single person.

By the time they got to the senkaimon, the whole Division was gathered around them and a proper embrace between parting lovers became impossible. They managed to exchange glances, as Jūshirō strode into the gate, holding the haori against his heart.

\---

 After weeks of pestering him around, Alma had finally managed to get Asano Yukio to work. The short and skinny punk talked with a permanent slur and appeared ever sleepy, but when he got to it, his hands produced wonderful works of art.

She had convinced him to open the shop after lunch and stay there up until dinner time. Of course, she would always be the one to open it and close it. Asano would stop by, do some job he had scheduled, give her some tips and chat about random things, then leave again after a while. It was not much, but she took it as a victory over laziness.

With this new routine, she did not notice that Jūshirō had been nowhere to be found for almost a week, until he finally came knocking on her door. She found the invitation to come down to his place a bit unusual, but she just rolled with it.

His house had the exact same plan as hers, but it was subtly more distinct. Good furniture, yet scarce, a few antiques and a bonsai by the window.

He invited her to sit by a small floor desk, across from where he sat. There were two strange items on it: a folded white garment and a samurai sword. She wondered if they had something to do with their conversation, and it scared her a little.

“Alma, can you please place your hand on this sword – do it very slowly, I beg you!”

She did, and as the tips of her fingers approached the sheath, the trembling feeling she had felt that afternoon struck her again. Her eyes closed for a moment and a huge mass of water seemed to engulf her. When she came to her senses, just a moment had gone by, but Jūshirō was gripping her strongly by the shoulders and calling her name.

“What did you see?”

“Water.”

“What did you feel?”

That was a strange question, but the answer came to her lips, as if no other could exist –

“You. I felt you.”

And so Jūshiro took a deep breath and began telling her the truth about him. That included his best attempt to explain Shinigami and Soul Society to a westerner, the true nature of his illness and its cure and, of course, his enduring but now inviable love for Kyoraku Shunsui.

In the end she looked neither shocked, nor confused. Rather, she seemed to be in the process of assimilating and processing information, like in a lecture, or while reading a complicated book. He finally realized it. It was as obvious as unlikely: she believed him.

There was a moment of silence, but then she raised her head. It seemed that she had come to some sort of understanding or resolve. She said -

“So, now’s my turn, right? Not nearly as exciting, but here it goes.” 

And she went on about her past: the hurdles of growing up with elderly grandparents in a small island; of running away from home, eventually surviving in the city and graduating top of her class; of finding an enslaving, yet well paid job, and leaving it mid-climb; of becoming a traveler, an artist in training and a free spirit.

“So I guess I’ve also left a few things behind. I won’t pretend to understand you fully, of course. No way I can do that. I can’t even wrap my head around something like your true age. But I will try… if you linger for a while…”

\---

He did linger, but their physical relationship came to a standstill. She wanted to respect his feelings for the man he had described as the love of his life. He wanted to come to terms with whatever he felt for her.

So they became friends, of sorts. Convinced that he was in need of proper feeding, she would prepare an extra o-bento in the morning and leave it tied to his door knob when she went to work. He would often come by the shop in the evening and walk her back home. They would go on outings here and there – hiking, temple hopping, sightseeing, tea drinking, wine tasting…

He would cry from time to time, usually with no apparent prompt, and she would silently hold his hand until the tears subsided. He was a thoughtful listener whenever she felt like venting some frustrations or anxieties. Slowly, over the course of months, their interaction became familiar and comfortable, yet for both, still ambiguous and unexplained.

And then her 30th birthday happened. Jūshirō had insisted on a dress-up dinner because it was her first birthday in Japan. They had gone to a local tailor and got two fancy outfits done: for him a traditional set of montsuki and hakama, and for her a silk kimono with white peonies on an aquamarine backdrop.

They went to Gion and had dinner in a ryokan. The meal was plentiful; the sake was decent. They ate and drank, talked and laughed, and they finally walked back home, making wrong turns, going the long way, stumbling on their robes, holding on to each other.

They eventually found themselves by his door. Alma said thank you, smiling wildly. She grabbed the handrail to continue with the climb, but whatever drunken dialogue they had going on, it pulled her back down. She tried to leave again, but he didn’t let her go just yet. And so the dance began. Two steps up, one down, one up, two down…

Jūshirō could joke. He could be funny as hell… and interesting, sweet, and kind… when he was not being a shinigami, or an ex-shinigami, or telling her that he loved someone else.

She made one more attempt to climb the stairs, now that the excitement was waning. But his hand grabbed hers. She looked back at him and blushed like a little girl. He had the eyes of a man. Eyes of want. He pulled her to him, and they kissed.

They went inside, past the lounge, into his bedroom. Then, he did the most unexpected thing. They had both come down to the floor, and she found herself struggling with the stiff robes that caught her movements. He steadied her shoulders, as if telling her to be still for a moment. Then, he retreated into a formal sitting position, facing her. Without a word, his eyes on hers, he brought his hands to the floor next to his knees, and then his head went the same way.

He was bowing before her, in the bedroom, by the futon where they would lie. As she mimicked his movement, the thought came to her fuzzy head like a storm.

‘I don’t think I can _not_ love you anymore.’

\---

 The next day he got on the train to Osaka for an appointment with the doctor that had saved him.

He peeled the cover of his o-bento and snapped the chopsticks. The night before was still replaying frantically in his mind. The images of their kisses, their shared reverences and their heated moments blended with the hurt and longing he had felt since he left Soul Society.

He tried to calm down. If he got to the clinic in that state, the doctor would ward him.

But still his mind drifted to the last time he saw Shunsui. The other man had managed to escape his duties for a day and they had gone to a hot springs resort out in the hills. For a week after that day, his mind had been caught in a loop. Over and over it fabricated the ghostly touches, the invasion of his body, the breath-taking pleasure. He didn’t want to see the world around him, because it would expose the reality that Shunsui was not there.

‘ _Passion imprisons_ ’.

But that same man had endowed him with a new life. A life that had taken him around the world, led him to a better understanding of humans, and now, laid yet another precious gift before him.

‘ _Love sets free_.’

\---

 The private clinic was not far from the main station, so Jūshirō just walked. 

Dr. Peeters fetched him personally from the waiting room and led him to his spacious office. He remembered him perfectly, as well as the procedure, but in his mind it had taken place at Karakura hospital, at the request of a local peer.

“Ukitake-san, I am impressed”, he said, while Jushiro sat bare chested with a stethoscope pressed to his back. “You seem to be in great shape, but since it’s your first visit, I recommend that you book a full body check up. We have very good facilities and can get you all sorted within a day. They also have some really nice spa combos, so you can finish your check up with a massage! Sounds good doesn’t it?”

After his consultation, he sat with an attendant, who walked him through the several check-up options. He went for a “premium” package and then asked about the add-ons.

“Oh yes! That is one of the great things about our clinic. We have three promotions at this time of the year. The add-on fee is the same for all three. You can have a full-body shiatsu massage plus hydrotherapy session, a body scrub plus Thai massage, or – this is a bit different, but we have recommended it to some of our patients – a fertility check.”

He considered for a while, but the last option had left him disconcerted. ‘Could it be?’ He never thought it could be possible. Should he check? It might just make him sad, but at least it would clear the matter. He fidgeted with his wallet, cheeks going red when he made up his mind.

“The last one! I will take the last one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uff! This was a bit long, but I wanted all these scenes to go together. The next (and last) chapter will (probably) be a short epilogue. Thank you so much for reading up until now! I think I might stay in this universe for a bit longer and write up a few one shots that I have in mind. Tune in for more :)


	7. Epilogue

Part I

 Kyoto. When had he last been in the old capital? Sometime before his sisters were born. His inconsiderate father had never bothered to bring the girls here for a visit.

 The air felt nice – slightly chill and dry. A perfect sunny autumn day, a few patches of auburn leaves making their appearance in the groves.

 He followed the map on his phone. It placed him in the matrix of streets like a little dot. ‘It’s nice to be just a little dot sometimes’ he mused. From the train station he walked to the right until he found the river, walked along the bank for a while, then inflected towards the hills.

 ‘This must be it.’ – he thought as he reached the red pin on the map, in front of a traditional sheltered gate. Inside was a small garden with a pond and, parked on a narrow paved lane, a min-van with a fish doodle and the slogan _great tours for small visitors_ printed on the side.

 ‘Jeez, this really has Ukitake written all over it.’

 A woman’s voice behind him stopped him from ringing the bell, finger already mid air.

 “Konichiwa! You must be Ichigo.”

 Her accent was funny. No wonder, she didn’t appear local at all.

 “Alma-san?”

 “Hai.”

 “Pleased to meet you!”

 “Likewise!”

 They bowed to each other, then Alma took the keys and opened the gate. Probably having heard the rattling sound, Jūshirō came out the door, yelling “Okaeri!”

 He was wearing shorts… and a t-shirt… and an apron… holding a cooking spatula, and… he had a… Ichigo could not take it. Rude, very rude, but he burst out laughing, tears rolling through his clamped eyelids…

 “Ukitake-san… you have a man-bun!!!”

 They both looked at each other, puzzled, but soon she was giggling, and he was blushing and Ichigo didn’t know what to make of the pair.

 “It’s what they call a man with long hair tied up in a bun…” she explained to him.

 “Oh! Thought they called it a top-knot… Should I bring it down then?”

 “No please… I am sorry. I’m an idiot, and this was rude. It was just a bit unexpected…”

 But the older man did not let him finish whatever excuse he was about to make, and wrapped him in a bear hug, cooking spatula and all.

 “I’ll check on the food. You boys take your time and catch up!” – and in she went, snatching the spatula from his hand along the way.

“So you… became a tour guide?”

 “Oh, that’s something we’re starting. Hopefully it will pick up during high season. For now, I’m mostly a freeloader… but Alma-chan likes my cooking!”

 There was fondness in that open smile. Ukitake always smiled, but Ichigo had come to know that it was, most of the time, a smile made of sorrows.

 “Now let me look at you… You’ve grown quite a bit, and is it my eyes or your hair is a shade lighter?”

 “Oh, maybe. I’ve been out in the sun a lot…”

 “How are they doing?”

They had broken the embrace and started walking through the small garden.

“Yoruichi took up free diving with a bunch of obāsan. She brings back a lot of fancy seafood but it’s still embarrassing to see her walking around naked like it’s nothing…”

“That’s very much like her…”

“Urahara opened another candy shop. He wanted to break into Soul Society and kill Kyoraku when he knew about all the stuff going on... If it weren’t for your letter… How did you find us anyway?

“An old man has his ways, Ichigo-kun.” 

“I see.” He sighed in frustration and turned to the message he had come to relay. “Urahara is willing to meet you and Kyoraku, but he suggests neutral ground.”

“Good. Neutral ground meaning…”

“Human world, but not here, not there.” 

“I see. That is acceptable. A proper venue will be arranged. What about Yoruichi?" 

“Na, she says politics is not her thing… Ukitake-san… this change the two of you are planning…”

“It’s not a plan yet, Ichigo-kun. It’s an idea. I’ll be happy to discuss it with you of course, but I think for that we need some tea, don’t you?”

\---

Ukitake climbed on the porch and kicked his flip flops. He opened the glass doors from the outside, slipping the tips of his fingers through the almost invisible gap. Ichigo sat down to untie his shoe laces. That’s when he noticed something under Ukitake’s sleeve.

“Ne, Ukitake-san, what’s that in your arm? Are you hurt?”

 “Oh, no, no… I’m fine! It’s a tattoo!”

‘A tattoo? Ukitake?’ Ichigo watched curiously as he pulled back his sleeve to reveal the entire piece: two carps in dark blue and turquoise brush strokes.

“Sogyo no kotowari?”

“Yes. It was Alma-chan’s first work. She was really nervous but I insisted to be her guinea pig! It turned out alright, didn’t it?”

“Yes. Looks like a painting.”

“I like it too… Take a seat, Ichigo-kun.”

The living room was scarcely furnished and gave out a feeling of serenity to those inside it. There were no sofas or TV sets or much decoration. It’s as if the exterior, the little garden and the pond, were enough to liven up the space.

There were two floor desks facing each other, one with an ink stone and a brush, the other with a box of pens and markers. One wall had a row of in-built closets, the other had the traditional alcove, with a sole chrysanthemum keeping company to Ukitake’s blade, which rested sheathed on a stand. Behind it was a mountain scene fixed on a scroll. There were several large cushions laid around the space for seating.

Ichigo settled on one of the cushions and Ukitake went inside. Soft voices and a few giggles filled the space for a while, until the older man came back with a small teapot and two cups. 

“I really must commend you on your reiatsu control. I didn’t feel a thing while you were approaching the house, and it remains nicely contained. Well done.”

“Well…” Ichigo scratched the nape of his neck. “I guess Urahara did a good job then.”

“Yes, I am glad you had Kisuke-kun and Yoruichi-san to support you after all that happened.”

“About that… Ukitake-san, how do you think things will turn out from now on?” 

Jūshirō poured the tea and took a sip from his small cup.

“Things have changed. I think everyone is still figuring out how much so. Shinigami are warriors, not thinkers, so we were taught. But can we really forego that capacity? We have been in the world of the living, in Sereitei, Rukongai and, some of us, in the Royal Realm and Hueco Mundo. This puts us in a position that few have. It gives us perspective. Ichigo, both of us have, one way or the other, experienced being a Shinigami and a human. Tell me, how do you feel when you talk to other fellow humans?

“Well, different from them, I guess…” 

“And why is that? Is it just because you have a spirit sword and you can cut down hollows… or because death, the existence of an afterlife, the big doubts and taboos, but also the big hopes of humanity are clear before our eyes…”

“So you are saying we are left with no option but to do something? But what? And with what purpose?”

“That is something I can’t tell. But would you care to think: why are human souls so restless? Why is there seemingly no chance of achieving peace? The way humans govern their societies go from despotic to chaotic and so many imperfect ways in between. Are they incapable… or do they lack a proper model? When you throw a soul in Rukongai, that soul endures, survives, eventually reincarnates. Is it really an absolute truth that all memories are wiped out and the soul starts anew? Or something abstract… something deeply untraceable, a sense of unfairness, of inequity, remains? Can human failure to properly govern their societies spawn from our failure to properly govern the society of souls?”

“Ukitake-san…” 

“Jū, can you set the table? Lunch is ready.”

He rose like a spring and let out a jovial “Yes baby”. He slid open one of the cabinets and brought out a folded table. He pulled the legs into place and set it in the middle of the room. He signaled Ichigo to follow him to the kitchen. On the way he stopped the young man, laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I talk too much. I don’t want you to follow my thoughts, but rather to come up with your own. When we manage to set up a meeting with Urahara, come along, it will be great to hear what you think about all this.”

\---

 They had a simple meal all together. The earlier conversation did not re-emerge. Ichigo was happy with that, he thought it was more important to celebrate. He hadn’t read Ukitake’s letter himself, so he seriously thought that Urahara was taking a piss at him until he got there and actually saw the woman’s still smallish baby bump.

After lunch he finally pulled the box out of his backpack.

“Ukitake-san, Alma-san, I know it’s a bit early but I don’t know if I’ll get the chance to give it to you at the proper time.” He handed the box to Jūshirō, who in turned looked at his partner and got her assent to go ahead and open the wrapping.

He skilfully pealed off the tape and removed the paper, then the square cover. As he pulled the item out of the box, a nostalgic smile washed over his face. It was the substitute shinigami badge, with the original strap replaced by a seashell necklace. 

“Ichigo-kun… I don’t know what to say…”

“It will be a few years until your kid needs that thing, but in the meantime maybe you could use it as a rattle or something.”

“Oh… good idea. We’ll do that. Thank you very much! It means a lot to me.”

“Don’t mention it… I’m happy for you. Congratulations.”

The woman squeezed Ukitake’s hand just as his eyes were seemingly about to overflow. The touch seemed to ground him. They exchanged glances, then she thanked Ichigo with a bow and excused herself again. When she was gone, Jūshiro said:

“About that, I was wondering… If one day my child does end up with reiatsu… would you come over some time and share your experience, give some guidance? You could be like an uncle or a sempai!” 

“I’ll do my best.” - the young man replied promptly. Then, as an afterthought he added – “So you don’t think it’s a certainty that your kid will have reiatsu? Not having it would be for the best...”

“I don’t know. Alma doesn’t have reiatsu, that I can sense at least, but by her third month she could see Rukia clearly… so I guess the possibility is strong.”

“Oh… In that case let me tell you two things, and this is the only advice I think I’m ever qualified to give: don’t hide anything from your children. Explain them what they are as soon as they are able to understand it, and… more importantly, don’t ever let anything happen to their mother…”

“Ichigo… I am sure your father did the best he could.”

“I know he did. But, Ukitake, do better.”

“I will, Ichigo, I will.”

 

 

Part II

“I’ll be inside. Enjoy your tea…”

The music in her voice masked the knot in her gut. 

‘Handsome’ she thought ‘like some kind of Antonio Banderas and Ken Watanabe love child.’

And he had to come over right when she felt big as a hippo and bloated like a puffer fish, when her nose looked round, her boobs were tender and her mood was in shambles.

‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’

She had bought into this whole thing knowingly. She could have opted out. She could still jump the ship, worst comes to worst. When had things become serious? Some time after her 30th birthday she had moved to his place. Living with him was easy. There was a certain commitment to it, but they still had plenty of personal space.

She always knew it when he was out to see the other man. She was fine with it because that acceptance was something she demanded of herself as a human being, but also because she realized Jūshirō was precious to her, so she refrained from doing, saying or demanding anything that might hurt him.

She remained firm in her resolve even when they decided to see the doctor together. He said chances were not high, but there was hope. And then it happened, and the embrace they shared when the blue cross formed in the slip was worth it all. 

So why did she feel so miserable? Hormones? Or because they were laughing in the lounge while she was crying like an idiot by the kitchen cabinet? She couldn’t even squat or make herself into a ball by the corner because she was so damn big. She clenched her fist, and in an outburst, kicked the rubbish bin with all her might.

“Are you ok?" 

There was a swirl of wind and white, and suddenly Jūshirō was holding her shoulders ever so gently.

“Hmm. I think I stubbed my toe…” she pouted.

“Come, I’ll get some ice and… hmm, if you want… Shunsui gives excellent foot massages…”

“He does?”

“I do?”

The tall man came looming by the door just as Jūshirō wiped a tear from her cheek.

“Yes, you do. And Alma-chan just hurt her foot so she could use one of those, isn’t it?”

He winked at her as he pushed her in the other man’s direction and turned around to open the freezer. 

“Come Alma-chan, let’s get you relaxed, shall we?”

He draped an arm over her shoulder, led her to the living room and lowered her carefully onto one of the cushions. Jūshirō followed shortly and sat behind her, supporting her back. His hands came lightly to her sides, giving the rounded abdomen the occasional rub. He breathed into her neck as he talked. Shunsui sat facing her and started working on her calves, kneading and rubbing. It felt good.

They talked about muscles and injuries, laughed about the times they had been in the infirmary together, reminisced about battles, friends, their past. She felt a bit jealous at the enormity of life they had shared. They conversed like there was not a single worry in the world, but their touches gave her reassurance that they cared for her.

It suddenly felt intimate, although Shunsui was, in theory, a stranger to her. But was he? Had he not lived between them this whole time? She had long tuned off from their conversation, focusing only on the sweet touches that led her to deep relaxation. When her eyes closed they switched to Japanese and all that was left was the soft murmur of their voices, the gusts of warm breath on her neck.

In a half-conscious blur, she felt herself expand, pour out of her body and meet the two powerful souls that surrounded her. They were beautiful in their light and darkness, solid in their binding. With a slight nudge they tucked her in, and, together, they became a womb. The smaller presence at their core gave out a flare of contentment. Her son.

‘So this is what it feels like… to be shell and nucleus, protected and protector, child and womb.’

There was a hum of approval, and a familiar voice filled her soul.

‘Yes’ he said, ‘This is the essence of love.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. It turned out a little longer than planned... hope you have patience to see it through! It was an interesting experience to write using anime characters, but especially to have feedback along the way. I want to say a big thank you to the faithful readers - few but wonderful in their responsiveness!   
> There is also something I want to mention. This belongs to the Bleach fandom but there's another implicit reference. The biggest hint, I think, is the name of the main OC. The Alma and all the characters from Brokeback Mountain "lived" in another time and place and so their decisions were heavily conditioned by social and cultural restraints. Nevertheless, it was a profoundly sad story, so I guess I ended up - first involuntarily and then a little more consciously - trying to fix that story, trying to come up with a different outcome to a similar dilemma. The beauty and power of stories, isn't it?  
> Ahhh I really don't want to let it go, but let it go I must.   
> End, fin, owari.  
> On to the next.  
> Thank you very much.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first fanfic, so any feedback is greatly appreciated!


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